


Wild Goose Chase...

by GreywolftheWanderer



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen, McShep Match Challenge 2013
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 11:12:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5088491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreywolftheWanderer/pseuds/GreywolftheWanderer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for McShep Match 2013, Team Fine, Trope/Prompt Wild Goose Chase</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wild Goose Chase...

“There it is,” Rodney pointed at the HUD. John watched him making fingerprints on the Jumper's windshield and winced, but said nothing. Not like it mattered; the Jumper showed him everything sharply whether the windshield was dirty or clean. Ancient tech was pretty awesome like that.

He glanced off to his right, enjoying the Rodney McKay show rather more than usual – and usually he enjoyed McKay a lot. Rodney was far and away the least boring person John Sheppard had ever met in his life. And for reasons John _still_ didn't understand, Rodney enjoyed him just as much, so, yeah. That happened...

John blinked and shook his head, drawn to the controls suddenly. A quick glance around the dash didn't show him anything alarming, but the hair on the back of his neck prickled. 

“Huh. That's weird.” Rodney's hands danced over his laptop.

“What's weird, Rodney? You know I hate it when you just say 'Huh.' It's way too ambiguous for my taste.” John firmly ignored the way his own pulse was now speeding up. _Pics, or it didn't happen, bitch_ , he thought to himself. If he just ignored impending trouble hard enough...

Rodney frowned. Call it a #4 on the McKay Frown scale. “Oh, it's just... there's an energy reading I haven't seen before, even though we've flown through here more than once, ferrying Athosian hunting parties.”

“Thought it looked familiar. So, where is this new energy reading? And how close is it to this New Moon market gathering? I want steak for supper!” John flicked a glance to the side again, watching McKay's hands again. Those hands... those hands could do things to his central nervous system John couldn't even begin to describe – but he sure as hell enjoyed them.

“It's almost in the same direction, about 5 kilometers further out. Want to check it out? We have time; Teyla told me the market will stay open for another four days yet.”

“Yeah – but will they still have tormack?” The stuff looked pretty weird, being purple and all – but it tasted pretty damn fine chopped up and fried like hash browns. Or mashed. Or roasted. Or made into mush and sweetened with not-honey. Damn. John was making himself hungry, and they weren't close to lunchtime yet, much less supper.

Rodney's hands stilled suddenly. “Point, Sheppard. You definitely have a point there.” He looked down, checking the readings one more time. “Well, when you put it like that – these readings are holding rock steady, and I already have enough data to track the source now. Whatever's causing this hasn't moved a bit since I first spotted it.”

“So, market first, then energy source?”

“Works for me!”

* * * * * * *

They made it in and out of the market in fairly short order, maybe an hour, not much more than that. Elizabeth herself had cleared their trade goods, and neither cared much for shopping as a recreational activity, so that worked out. And now they had about forty kilos of Lantea's version of venison in insulated coolers in the cargo area, plus a dozen fat sacks of tormack, which meant tonight's dinner was, in John's words, “gonna be fucking _awesome!!_ ” He smacked Rodney's shoulder by way of punctuation. That got him a snarl, a punch in the shoulder, and the #3 McKay Imminent Death Glare.

Seriously. John and Ronon had a whole catalogue of the various different McKay Death Glares, the McKay Frown Scale, all that stuff. Important information; asses, theirs, for the saving of.

That little bit of juvenilia had been well worth it, though, to see Rodney's face turn that particular shade of red. John chewed on the inside of his lip as he tried not to burst out laughing. He made it almost five whole minutes before he dissolved into a gigglepuddle in the Jumper's pilot seat. Rodney just huffed, and kept his gaze firmly glued to the HUD, focused on the energy source he was tracking.

Eventually, John ran out of giggles and leaned back in his chair, wiping his eyes and sighing happily. It wasn't every day he managed to wind Rodney up to that extent; such occasions were to be treasured and enjoyed. He stayed like that for the next few minutes, just enjoying the day, and the company. It wasn't very often the two of them could get away for even part of a day; usually there was just too much going on for either one to leave for purely recreational purposes, much less both. They had the Jumper until tomorrow morning, despite the fact that the New Moon market fair was only an hour's flight or so away from the city.

Rodney was busy studiously ignoring him now, scowling up at the HUD, then down at his precious laptop, as if it was letting him down grievously... 

John didn't mind. It was all part of the show. Every day was different, in McKay World.

Finally, Rodney turned to face him, looking more interested now than annoyed. “Okay, then... we should be coming up on that reading any time now.”

John pulled his boots off the center console and sat back upright. He frowned at the HUD for a moment. “The top end of that canyon, there, is that what we're looking for?”

“Right around there, yes. I'll know more once I get outside.” 

Huh. Not bad; for once they could set down within easy walking distance of their goal. Now _that_ didn't happen every day.

* * * * * * *

“Easy, easy... I don't understand, you should be right on top of it now!” 

John turned himself around, eying their surroundings uneasily. He wished Rodney hadn't said that. It never ended well... 

CRACK! 

...and the ground fell out from under him, dropping him into the middle of a cascade of rocks, dirt, tree roots, clumps of grass, and pissed-off bugs.

There just had to be bugs. John _hated_ bugs. He hated missions involving bugs. Any kind of bugs, but especially the big, metal-flake green, blue, and red Pegasus galaxy bugs, the ones that liked to go running up pant legs or under a guy's shirt, not to even mention the damned fucking neck-chewing fucking _Iratus_ fucking bugs... “Hey,” he told himself, “Forget that bullshit. Time to get the fuck out of here.” He pulled the neck of his black T-shirt up to cover his nose and mouth; no point inhaling even more dirt.

“Hey, Sheppard! John!! You hear me?” Rodney sounded muffled. John wondered just how deep he'd fallen. The air was still thick with dust and schmutz; he couldn't see clearly enough to even guess.

On the bright side, nothing seemed to be hurting too badly, it didn't smell of mold or crude oil down here, and he hadn't broken anything, as far as he could tell. So, there was that. Seriously, as weird shit went, on the Pegasus scale, this barely registered at all. He felt around for something solid enough to pull himself upright, then tilted his head back to where he could just barely see daylight, of a sort.

“Yeah, I hear ya, Rodney. Hey, guess what?”

“What?”

“I found a hole in the ground!” John smirked, as he imagined the look on Rodney's face.

“Oh, ha ha, very funny.”

“Well, yeah, it kind of _is_. Anyhow, do you still show that energy reading? Might as well check it out, since I'm already down here.” John perched on a rock long enough to lean forward and shake most of the dust and crap out of his hair and off the back of his neck. Just for good measure, he shook out his shirt, then tucked it back in. Yeah, that definitely felt better.

“Huh. Good point... Gimme a minute.” The slide was settling down, now; he could even hear Rodney's rapidfire typing. Hopefully the rest of the dust would settle too – sooner better than later. “Okay, I'm showing a reading about 2 meters in front of you, around waist height, if nothing's distorting these readouts.”

“Any idea what I'm looking for?” John shaded his eyes, but saw nothing that stood out amid the dirt and rocks and swirling, billowing dust.

“No, I'm sorry, I left my scrying stone at home!” The snark factor was climbing nicely now.

John grinned. Point for him. “Well, _that's_ unfortunate.” Right then he felt... something. Nothing familiar, but it tasted Ancient. Which yeah, made no sense at all – except it did. _What are you?_ Moving carefully, hoping not to set off any more slides, he made his way across the small chamber he'd fallen into. Nothing visible yet, nor could he hear anything except Rodney, and the slowly settling dirt. But there was definitely something there. _What are you, and where are you hiding?_ There was something... not exactly a chirp, in fact he didn't think, now, that it was a sound at all. But he could feel? Taste? Smell? All of these, and none. He was almost there, now. He hopped onto a pretty big rock – good thing he hadn't landed underneath _that_ one, for damned sure – then knelt on the highest point and reached out with one arm, fingers outstretched. Dirt, rock, more dirt... _tink!_

“Huh. _There_ you are.” He leaned a bit further out, and very carefully dug around the thing he'd found. The dirt was still loose, so it wasn't hard to move. Whatever “it” was, it had sounded like glass, which was interesting all by itself. He was pretty sure it wasn't a ZPM, Rodney's instruments would have detected that – but still, it could be damn near anything. The Ancients had been crazy bastards on their good days. And their bad days, well – Doranda came to mind...

 _Tink!_ “Gotcha. Okay, now what _are_ you?” Very carefully, John poked and pried until he pulled it completely free. He cradled it carefully in one hand, while he climbed back down to somewhat steadier footing. Most of the dust had settled now, leaving a nice big pool of sunlight in the center of the cavern. John perched on one of the larger rocks in the center, relieved to feel it stay motionless, and peered down at his prize.

A small, eight-sided container in the familiar Ancient stained-glass style, purple and blue, this time. Well, that was new and different. It was about one handspan across, surprisingly heavy, still cool from the earth John had dug it out of. And it was glowing, faintly. Hopefully not in a bad way.

Hopefully.

“Did you find it?”

“I found something. Looks like a little glass box, except for the whole landslide-didn't-break-it thing. It's kind of cool-looking; it's all purple and blue.”

“Cool-looking? Wow. Dazzling vocabulary there, Colonel!” Sound of velcro, then rustling noises. “Okay, hang on a second.” More rustling and some clanking noises, and then a coil of rope slithered down into the hole, coiling its last few feet right next to John's boots. John sat up straighter and gave it a good tug – solid. Didn't budge. _Rodney's getting better at this stuff_. “Can you climb out?”

“Yep. Be right up. I see you remembered the rope!” Moving carefully, John zipped his tac vest up most of the way, wrapped the little box in his favourite black bandanna for luck, and tucked it into the vest. Then he wrapped the rope around his arm and both legs, and started climbing.

The only really hard part was getting over the edge at the top without falling or dropping the box. But he did it, and was bemused to find it easier than it had ever been before. 

Even though Carson had pronounced him Officially Debugged, John had noticed that ever since the Great Retrovirus Fiasco, he had a little more of everything physical; a bit more strength, a bit more speed, quicker reflexes. Fortunately, though, no more compulsion to go skittering up the walls like a cockroach again. Which was good, cause he _hated_ cockroaches, with the fire of a thousand nukes. He didn't like any kind of bugs, really – but roaches, he _especially_ despised.

Another nice thing about living in Atlantis – no fucking roaches. They'd seen them on some of the other worlds, but never a one inside the city, or even on the Jumpers. Suited John just _fine_ , please and thankya.

“So, let's see it! What did you find?” Rodney was practically bouncing, he was so eager to get a look. John just smirked, and reached into his vest, then handed over the still-wrapped box. Rodney already had his scanner out before he even got it unwrapped, and John shook more dirt out of his hair and off his uniform, then stood back to enjoy the show some more, smiling wider when the first thing Rodney did was rush back into the Jumper and sit down. Given that the pilot's chair was way more comfortable than the ground, John thought that was a brilliant idea, and quickly resumed his own station. Neither mentioned the cave-in again; shit just happened in the Pegasus Galaxy; it was the safe way to bet pretty much every time. 

As he leaned back, sprawling comfortably, he noticed that Rodney had already coiled up the rope and brought it in with him. _We'll make a soldier of you yet_ , John thought, grinning.

“So tell me, did it light up brightly when you first touched it?” Rodney turned it end over end, throwing his scanner results up on the HUD for ease of reading.

“You know, it didn't.” Which was... odd. Most Ancient tech lit up like the 4th of July when John first touched it. This one had a slight glow, but it had been like that before he touched it. He hadn't consciously noticed at the time, being preoccupied just then with getting out of the hole he'd fallen into. Without taking a step. _Again_.

Rodney frowned. “But it still has some remaining power, enough to make that little glow, at least. That's pretty weird. ” He scanned it some more, mumbling. “Hope it isn't-- well, hmm, it, ah, doesn't seem to be radioactive. Yet.” 

John echoed Rodney's eye-roll. “It glows, though – so many times that doesn't end well.”

“I'm not thrilled, myself. So the question then is, why doesn't it light up for you like everything else does? Is this almost drained, or is it locked, biometrically or otherwise?” Just the tip of Rodney's tongue showed as he glared at the so-far inoffensive glass box.

“I don't know. Want me to try initializing it?”

“Not yet. Soon. I'll let you know.” Rodney looked up from his scanner momentarily. “What did we bring for supper, or were you figuring to go back tonight?”

“Heh. No, we don't have to be back until tomorrow. I figured a little peace and quiet would be good. No-one can pester us out here. Supper? I don't know. How does beefalo steak sound?”

“Tasty – though how you're going to cook it, I don't know.”

“That's the easy part. I brought Teyla's smaller camp stove, so we can keep warm and cook dinner, all at the same time.”

It was Rodney's turn to smirk now. This he had to see. Being Canadian, not to mention literally getting posted to Siberia a few years back, Rodney knew all the tricks for messing with cantankerous wood stoves – and every woodstove was cantankerous. Nature of the beast. Some just hid it better, was all. The odds of John, on the other hand, knowing what to do with one... Not likely. _Pity Radek isn't here to bet with, hah!_

John scowled. “What are you smirking at now?” 

“That's for me to know, and you to find out. Now, I believe mention was made of steak?”

John rolled his eyes again. Rodney won the snark-off damn near every time. It was embarrassing, dammit. Ronon laughed his big, furry ass off every time he saw it happen.

Being hungry, though, he lost no time getting Teyla's campstove out of the back of the Jumper and setting it up. For the first time all day, he felt stiff and sore. _Must be from that fall_. He scowled, and kept moving, his muscles taking their own sweet time to loosen up. Fortunately, it didn't take him too long to find fuel; it was summer-warm on this part of the mainland right now, and there was plenty of dry downed wood. Plus, there was an axe in the Jumper's emergency kit

Damn! Lucky Rodney didn't see him bounce the axehead off his boot. _Yay, steeltoes_. Dave and his dad would have ridden him for _weeks_ about that one. It had been too long since he'd done this. Still, Teyla's stove was a pretty basic model, no fancy bells and whistles, just your basic cookstove. 

John worked diligently at his woodpile until he had, hopefully, enough for an evening. 

The whole time he was doing that, Rodney kept typing, and poking at the artifact, and consulting his scanner. And John-watching. But he could be very sly when he really wanted to, and good at seeming to be interested in something else. Every time John looked over at him, Rodney was looking down at his laptop, or at the artifact, or at the Jumper's HUD, where he'd posted all kinds of strange stuff.

Initial setup on the stove wasn't hard, just a matter of finding a patch of bare earth, or sand, even gravel would work. That was easy; so was attaching the chimney, which stood up past even Ronon's head. The ashcatcher had already been emptied, and John had collected several handfuls of bark, dried grass, chopping block scraps, all of that. The good part was, he could almost move normally, now; the work had warmed his muscles up and made him feel better.

It was the actual fire itself that turned out to be the hard part. The first batch of tinder flamed up and vanished so quickly, none of the wood ignited. The second smouldered uneasily, smoke sneaking out the top of the stove and the joins in the chimney. He rattled the damper around and carefully relaid the kindling, and found some small branches/heavy twigs to be the middle of the fire pile. He took more time and built it up carefully, until the stovetop was good and hot, the door was fully shut, and the chimney was drawing right. The skill came back to him slowly as he worked, remembering summers at the lake house, when his mother had still been alive...

Rodney had actually just put his scanner down when John decided it was Fire. He had just turned to tell him so, when a loud BANG made both men dive for the ground. Duck first, live to ask questions later, always sound practice in the Pegasus galaxy. Nothing more exploded, and finally both of them stood up, brushing grass and dirt off one another's uniforms. It was Rodney that noticed it first.

“Holy crap. She's going to kill you, John. She's gonna kill you dead for this.”

Reluctantly, John followed Rodney's gaze... “Aw, you have got to be _kidding me!_ ” John pointed at the corner of the stove, and the fire that was now visible through the gaping crack there. “Aw, man. Teyla _is_ gonna kill me.” The chimney was torn wide open, jaggedly, and one corner of the stovebox now had a visible gap, through which the remains of the fire still shone fitfully. “The chimney might be fixable. But the woodbox – I don't know.”

Rodney whistled, “Yeah, she really might kill you, for that.” He pointed to the gaping hole, then the chimney. “You know, I don't think that's really safe to cook on. Let's _not_ get carbon monoxide poisoning, and say we did...” 

“But what are we going to eat?” John might have pouted, just the tiniest bit. Normally he just didn't get all that hungry. But after climbing out of that cave, chopping a bunch of wood – oh, and let's not forget, blowing up Teyla's camp stove... _I am so dead!_ ...he'd worked up quite an appetite. Dammit, his belly had been all set for that beefalo steak!

Rodney grinned. “As it happens, my pyrotechnically-inclined friend, _we_ have MREs in the Jumper – turkey pot pie for you, and mac n' cheese for me. Chocolate brownies for afters.”

John gaped, impressed where just a few minutes ago, he'd have been annoyed. He still couldn't figure how he'd managed to blow up Teyla's stove – though now that he thought about it, he wasn't entirely sure he'd checked that chimney for bird's nests or some such. Or maybe a good-sized piece of pitchwood? He might have missed something. Hell, he _must_ have missed something, the damned thing exploded.

“You are a genius, Rodney. Nice save!” _Mmm, pot pie_...

“ _Thank_ you,” Rodney crowed, in that _ha-ha, I win_ sing-song tone he and Zelenka always used. John pretended to scowl, all the while gloating over his MRE – the turkey pot pie was his favourite, one that he didn't get to eat very often. Lots of people liked those; they were always the first to vanish.

“Score! Thanks.” John sketched a bare-bones salute.

Rodney looked up from his own MRE and grinned. “Turns out Corporal Yates, in the mess, is a big Dr. Who fan. And I just _happen_ to have the latest season, so voila! Dinner is saved!”

“Geek.” John stuck his tongue out.

“Nerd.” Rodney made the manga face: eyelid pulled down, tongue sticking out.

“Otaku!” Both of them yelled that in unison, then cracked up totally. Rodney finished his first MRE and grabbed a second one. John was just finishing his first. He never ate a lot; hell, if it hadn't been chocolate brownie, Rodney would already have conned his desert out of him. Chocolate brownie, though, was Serious Business. Men had died for less than that.

John patted his stomach happily, then picked up his brownie. “I have to admit it, Rodney; sometimes MREs have their moments.”

“Absolutely! I'll have you know, unless it's very well cooked, fresh food can be hazardous, not to mention, _vastly_ overrated. I mean, hello? We invented preservatives _for a reason!_ ”

John laughed til he fell over sideways and lay on the ground, still wheezing and giggling. Yeah. Just like Ancient technology, Rodney was cool like that.


End file.
